Clearance
by treacle-antlers
Summary: Season 4: Whilst searching for AWOL Riley, Buffy and reluctant sidekick Spike are trapped in a medical supply closet for 24 hours (minus NC-17 epilogue but otherwise complete!)
1. Clearance

**Clearance**  
**treacle antlers**  


  
  
This one had really big hair.  
  
Why did the old ones always go for the big hair thing? Like they were trying to distract from the face or something. He grunted, sucked another mouthful from his beer and sunk a little lower into Harris's rotting garden chair. Yeah that was probably it. Even a dead Pomeranian on her head was gonna improve that mug. So where were all the luscious ripe ones? The golden-tanned honies, with the caramel legs and skirts so short sometimes you could almost see their...  
  
"Xander? You down here?"  
  
A violent jerk almost threw him clear of his seat, grabbing for the controls to change stations, punching buttons randomly. Ended up with the Discovery Channel. Lions. Yeah, that was manly enough.  
  
"Spike."  
  
Her voice was just a shade away from complete disdain, setting his teeth on edge with just that one word. His name. Like he was nothing, the dog-dirt on her shoe. Bitch. He let his face resolve itself into it's patented fuck-you expression and pointedly avoided her gaze.  
  
"Yeah, only me. Sorry to disappoint you Slayer."  
  
He felt around for his cigarettes. Didn't actually feel like a fag but...hey...what the hell, she was here now breathing his air with her shiny, untarnished lungs and suddenly he felt the overwhelming need to light up.  
  
"Your side-kicks off getting shagged by his demon bird. Nice someone's got a life."  
  
He could see that stupid little pixie-face of hers scrunching itself up into what probably constituted a threatening expression, took another pull on his beer, felt a smile begin somewhere at the corners of his mouth. Fuck '_The Young and The Restless'._ He'd forgotten Slayer-baiting was his new favourite form of entertainment. Twisting his body round in his seat, he draped one leg up and over the arm suggestively. Gave her the full-face Spike. Her hackles were up already, the arms crossed in the pose she always seemed to adopt when dealing with him, the one he liked to call 'The Slayer Lock-down'.  
  
"So what about you love? Action-man's night manoeuvres leave you wanting tonight?"  
  
That one never missed. Right on the button, like zapping her with one of the electric cattle prod things. He let a grin spread slowly, seeing the fire he just loved to stoke crackle to life behind those hazel-green eyes. Houston...we have ignition.  
"And what about you?"  
  
Her gaze drifted over and around him with a studied indifference, took in the bowl of nachos, the empty bottles, lingering for a few seconds on the rental videos.  
  
"Planning another night of brutal torture, and the murder of innocents? Drinking of delicious human...oh. Sorry...I forgot."  
  
Like he'd said. Bitch. But he could do nonchalance every bit as well as the bleeding Chosen One. Dropped a couple of chips into his mouth and stared her out. Took all of fifty seconds too. And she looked away first.  
  
A small victory but short-lived. She wasn't leaving, still standing there with that look on her face like he was seven types of shit in a sack. He flipped channels again, checked back on 'Santa Barbera', still having the earthquake, found 'Sunset Beach'. Yeah. She had to hate that. Experimented with the chips, grinding them lightly between his molars, trying to elicit the loudest and most irritating sound he could. Had almost perfected it when she snapped, snatching the bag away from him with a growl of exasperation.  
  
"Will you quit it!! Jesus...you are so... that a side-effect of the chip?"  
  
He narrowed his eyes, shot her a good one, pure guile.  
  
"Why don't you ask soldier-boy? Oh...sorry...I forgot."  
  
Almost regretted that. Almost, but not quite. If he'd been a gentleman, or a man at all maybe. As it was, vampire and all, he watched her lip for that telltale tremor and when it came, felt a lovely little stab of....was that jubilation? A warm glow. Drained the last drops of his beer and binned the empty with a triumphant clang.  
  
"So any news yet? Or he still M.I.A?"  
  
She brushed a hand over her eyes, pushed her hair back. She wasn't crying. The Slayer didn't cry, though her eyes did look a little red. Probably just the bleach fumes.  
  
"I got a lead. Something. Maybe."  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
Why was he even feigning interest? The sooner she got good and pissed off at him the better. 'Passions' was on in half an hour and he was buggered if he was going to share the last bag of Red-Hot Doritos. He slid out of his seat and stalked over to Harris's pathetic little kitchenette, searched the cupboard. But she wasn't leaving, still wasn't leaving. And that stance? The awkward half turn of her body and the way she kept tapping the toe of one boot against the sofa? All the signals pointed to one thing.  
  
"Oh no...."  
  
"Oh no what?"  
  
"I'm not one of your bleeding Scoobies. I've got better things to do with my time than play wet-nurse to you."  
  
"Wet what?"  
  
He sighed, ground his teeth almost audibly. Why couldn't the bloody Justice League get it through their thick goody-goody skulls? Slammed the cupboard door shut with maximum force, and rounded on her with eyes as hard as he knew how to make them.  
  
"We are not friends. I am not your bloody mate. I do not help you. I hate you."  
  
And she was snarling now, sick with herself and she hadn't even asked yet. Hadn't even got the words out. Mad that he'd guessed it before she could even find a way of phrasing the request.  
  
"Yeah? Well...the feelings mutual, I can assure you!!"  
  
"Bitch!"  
  
"Bastard!"  
  
Watched her whirl round in a swirl of gold, take the stairs in two bounds, heading for the door.  
  
Silly cow.  
  
He cranked the volume and settled back into his chair, tore at the foil bag imagining it was her flesh. Like he fucking cared. Let her stamp and whine all she liked, no way on earth he was going to make her life easier. He snorted with scorn. Thought he was her bleeding lap dog now did she? She could just yank the chain and he'd come to heel like a good doggy, or no dinner for you. His stomach growled as if in response and he patted it thoughtfully. Never felt anything but hungry these days, and everywhere he looked, lithe healthy bodies, stripped down to nothing in the summer heat. Walking around pumping lovely, hot, scarlet goodness that he had no way of getting at. No way to buy the good stuff either, not without a ton of ready cash and he couldn't see himself coming by money anytime soo......  


  
- - - - - - - - - -  


  
She had the stake in her hand in a second, managed to stop it in mid air, maybe a millimetre from piercing his chest. Had to give it to her, reflexes like a cobra.  
  
"O.K, I'm in. But it'll cost you. Fifty."  
  
Saw her roll her eyes in the darkness but she was taking it. Hissed the reply from between gritted teeth,  
  
"I've only got twenty."  
  
He scowled, counting the thin wad with one hand, keeping his eyes on her,  
  
"Don't worry sweetheart. You can owe me the rest."  
  
A group of young guys passed, sniggering at the exchange and he saw her skin twitch, a sudden look of disgust as she realised where she was, in public, and with whom. Would have been funny except that it wasn't. He didn't know why. Felt like he was crossing a line here, taking money from the Slayer when what he should be taking was her life. Breaking her throat open like a fortune cookie, dragging it from her kicking and screaming and leaving her all wet and bloody on the sidewalk for the crows to peck at. Realised he was grinning and that she was looking at him like he was crazy.  
  
"Right! So what's the plan? Spot of vamp-on-vamp action? Got a demon you need the squeeze putting on?"  
  
Kept her eyes on him for a second longer then shook her head slow, like she was stupid, regretting this already. Sighed,  
  
"Just go get the car."  
  


- - - - - - - - - -  


  
She was pretty quiet now. Maybe psyching herself up for the battle or something. Or maybe it was just she couldn't bring herself to make small talk with him. He snorted, punched the lighter in, slipping a Marlboro between his lips. Yeah, that was more like it. Not too high-and-mighty to ask for help, but no hob-nobbing with the hired hand.  
  
"So this place? Much further is it? Only, there's not much gas in the..."  
  
She cut him off, her voice clipped and weary,  
  
"Another mile."  
  
Right. Thought he knew where they were going now. The army base on the other side of the valley. Passed it a couple of times late at night, on his way back to SunnyD, always crawling with khakis, guns and ammo up the ying- yang.  
  
"You think that's where they're keepin' him?"  
  
She hunched down in her seat, didn't answer and for the first time he noticed she looked a little uncertain, like she wasn't sure what they was going to find. And sad. Real sad. He let his eyes rest on her for a moment, before turning back to the road with a frown. Didn't know why but almost felt sorry for her there, just managed to stop his right hand from brushing that hair away, tucking it back behind that pretty little shell of an ear.  
  
He yanked the lighter out and lit up like he trying to burn something out of himself. Fucking humans. Spend enough time round them and you'll start to catch stuff. Emotions. Pity, compassion, empathy...shit like that. Rolled down the window, rinsed his mouth with his tongue and spat into the darkness. She looked at him like he'd just hit a dog.  
  
"Bad taste in my mouth." he explained.  
  


- - - - - - - - - -  


This was the place. But how the fuck she thought they were getting in there he couldn't imagine. Four guards on the gate, all human, and she sure as shit knew he was useless in that capacity. Drove past real slow, trying to look like hick rubberneckers, parked the DeSoto in some brush about half a k down the road. Watched her pulling a black polo on over her lycra-t, head to toe stealth wear.  
  
"So what? We're just gonna to sneak in there? Hope they left a window open?"  
  
She held up a slim credit-sized card,  
  
"We have clearance."  
  
Handed it to him while she hunted in the bag for her hat, pulled it on, shoving stray blonde ends out of sight.  
  
"Security pass? You lift this?"  
  
"It's Riley's. No good without the pass code though."  
  
He raised his eyebrows, handed it back,  
  
"And you got that?"  
  
"It's a six digit number. Giles and I sat out here all Tuesday night with his binoculars, until I saw someone punch it in....over there."  
  
She pointed, through the perimeter fence, a long grey building, no windows. Had Official Clearance and Top Secret stamped all over it. He sucked in a breath, let it out again with a frown.  
  
"OK. But I'm still not getting where I fit into all of this."  
  
She sighed heavily, let herself out of the car,  
  
"If he's in there he's probably unconscious, and if I'm carrying him it doesn't really leave any limbs free for...."  
  
Met his eyes with a steady gaze, no venom, just giving him the facts.  
  
"You're the only other one strong enough. OK?"  
  
He blinked. Once, twice. And she wasn't even taking the piss. Well that was a first. Respect, albeit the grudging kind. He watched as she walked off ahead, waited a moment before following her. Risked a smile. Felt kinda good too.  
  


- - - - - - - - - -  
  


They slid into the shadows, something he'd always been good at. Her too, had to admit. For a Slayer he sometimes thought she had real potential. Had a handle on stuff that none of the others he'd come across had even touched. She was true blue, he was sure of that, not like that Faith one, but there was something else in her. A bit of darkness that had leaked in. Nou much, but it meant he couldn't take her, couldn't out-think her, she was always just one jump ahead, guessing his next move. One of the main reasons he'd always loved to fight her. The perfect match of his skill, strength and speed, always dancing glittering, golden and just out of his reach. He growled. Christ, he missed that.  
  
"Spike! Will you keep it down?"  
  
She was sliding the card through the lock now, punching the buttons with soft precise movements, keeping on eye on the guard over to her right. A moment and he held his breath, wasn't sure why, then a green light and the lock snapped open. Heard her exhale too, pausing to meet his eyes before slipping inside.  
  
Diffused lighting. That was different. Most of these army places had fluorescents that felt like they were baking your brain. She was walking ahead of him, keeping her back close to the wall. Watched her for a minute until she looked round, saw him standing in the centre of the corridor, eyebrows questioning, hands in his pockets.  
  
"What the hell are you doing?"  
  
"I could ask you the same thing. Vampire remember. There's no one nearby, I'd hear them."  
  
She rolled her eyes, motioning for him to follow. Disappeared around a corner and he swore softly, scuffed his heels on the linoleum as he broke into a trot to catch her up. That's it Spikey. Good dog.  
  


- - - - - - - - - -  
  


A white door. She was pressing it open, sliding her face round to peek inside. He moved in behind her silently, looked over her shoulder. Just some bandaged action-man with a finger missing. Noticed the bag hanging from the hook beside his bed, and felt the saliva rush his mouth, his stomach giving an answering groan. The look she gave him was incredulous,  
  
"God! Don't you think of anything else?"  
  
Slid back past him, a rub of sinewy muscle against his thigh and he was surprised to feel another kind of twitch, something other than hunger. He grunted to himself, well, he was only human...well he wasn't, but she was, and female. And, like fresh blood, he hadn't had much of that in a month of Sundays either. Adjusted himself in his jeans.  
  
"Spike! Are you coming?"  
  
He almost smirked but managed to twist it into a scowl. No way she was going to have the satisfaction of knowing that one. Followed her up the next length of corridor. She was peering into another room now, some other poor sod leaking goodies no doubt, and then he heard it. Not far away either, doors opening and closing, voices getting louder.  
  
"Slayer! Buffy!!"  
  
He darted through the open door managed to grab her hand before she could move back the curtain around the guy. She jumped back startled, tried to pull away from him,  
  
"What? Spike...get off me!!"  
  
"Someone coming."  
  
And she was with him in a second, both making for the door and out into the corridor, two pairs of eyes moving as one, searching for a hiding place.  
  
"Medical supplies! Down there!!"  
  
They sprinted fast, her breath suddenly rapid in his ears as they slid to a halt outside the door, another lock and she was grabbing for the card, sliding it into the gap, punching buttons. He could hear their feet now, just rounding the corner, any second now and suddenly she was dragging his arm, pulling him into the darkness, the steel door snapping shut behind them.  
  


- - - - - - - - - -  


  
Cool in here. Cool enough to raise goose bumps on her arms anyway. He could feel them, pressed against her, against the wall, feel her breath reflecting off his throat. Feel her heart thrashing like a robin's, her breasts crushed against his chest. Damn. Happening again. Really hoped she couldn't feel that, pushed her back just enough to give his dick some privacy.  
  
"Have they gone?"  
  
Her voice was taut, scratchy and right in his ear. He listened, a shrug.  
  
"Yeah. Down the other end now."  
  
He gave her another little shove and she backed right up now, as if suddenly realising who he was, wiped her hands off quickly on her thighs. Sweaty.  
  
"O.K. Where's the lock? Can you see it?"  
  
He reached out, took the card from her hand and ran it through, punched the code. A sort of low buzz sound, bit like a cicada. That wasn't right.  
  
"You punched it wrong, give it to me."  
  
She grabbed it off him. Hadn't Joyce ever taught her not to snatch? Feeling around for the buttons with her fingertips. Silly bint. He reached up above her head, snapped on the light. She jumped and looked around, a little embarrassed at finding the tiny space they were crammed into a moment ago was actually a fairly big room, stacked full of largish boxes and crates. Tried the card again, punched the code slow and careful.  
  
The buzz again.  
  
He frowned, watching her go through it a third time, hitting each key like she had a personal grudge. About to go for number four when he took it off her.  
  
"This code. They ever change it?"  
  
She glared at him, snatched it back, slid it through again,  
  
"Every week. But this is this weeks. It shouldn't change till Monday."  
  
Punched again, and almost put her fist through it when it sounded a fourth time.  
  
"Monday? And today is....?"  
  
"Sunday, Spike. Today is Sunday! I know your life has no purpose but..."  
  
"Sunday at..."  
  
checked her watch, like he'd ever wear one.  
  
"...midnight."  
  
She stopped and he thought he actually heard her swallow - gulp - like one of those cartoon characters, like Wiley frigging Coyote. Felt like dropping an anvil on her himself at this moment, a weight with one-thousand bloody tons printed on the side, see all her Slayer guts dribble out from underneath.  
  
"Which would make...."  
  
"Today Monday."  
  
He finished it for her, already having a look round, scouting for a window, an air-vent, anything, but they were shit out of luck. No way out and a solid steel door to protect the little G.I Joes from all the lovely drugs in here. Leant hard against it just to be sure. Her face retained a last ray of hope, and he felt like a heel when he had to dash it, shook his head.  
  
"Three inches at least. Don't think even you could bust that one."  
  
Silence. He looked at her, questioning.  
  
"So?"  
  
"So what?"  
  
"So...you're the bleeding mastermind? What do we do now?"  
  
He smelt blood and lanolin, could hear the soft rushing of the air- conditioner, somewhere the faintest gurgle of liquid in cooling elements, heard the uncertainty in her voice as she said,  
  
"We wait."  
  
"Wait for what?"  
  
"Someone to...come get supplies."  
  
He resisted the urge to laugh at her, suddenly didn't seem that funny anyway. Trapped in a supply cupboard with his mortal enemy. No booze, no food, nothing to drink, all the prescription drugs known to mortal man and a raging hard-on that was stubbornly refusing to go down. Great. She cleared her throat, stared back at the door, eyes suddenly wide.  
  
"I mean....they must use this cupboard all the time...right?"  
  
He scoped the shelves, couldn't help but notice the amount of dust on the crate nearest him. Probably shouldn't draw that to her attention though.  
  
"I'm sure...someone'll be along...in just a minute."


	2. Confessions

Times like this he was thankful for the lack of circulation. He had a dim memory that protracted periods of time spent sitting on cold floors was bad for you in some way. Grinned suddenly when he remembered why.  
  
Piles.  
  
His Mother's voice tutting disapprovingly as she dragged him up off the church steps, slapping the dust off his breeches with her hand. Hadn't known it then of course but his health hadn't been her real concern. Just hated to see him playing jacks in the dirt with the local riff-raff. Like he was a common street urchin or something, not a nice respectable lad with three suits and flannels for Sundays. Funny, wasn't really thought of as a bad thing back then. Snobbery. More like a way of life. He popped his lighter, lit his fifth cigarette and inhaled deeply.  
  
"Must you?"  
  
The first thing she'd said in almost an hour and her voice hadn't lost any of it's edge. Must have been stewing over there all this time, trying to think of some other way she could add to his discomfort, other than the main one of taking the only seat. He eyed her lazily, knowing how much that half-lidded stare really ticked her off.  
  
"Yeah, 'fraid I must."  
  
Sucked in a great lung-full and directed it expertly towards her. He could see her struggling not to cough, locking eyes with him in a silent threat of violence, before she scowled and flung herself out of the chair, stalking over to the door for about the thirtieth time. She tried the handle again, applied a little more Slayer strength to the locking mechanism,  
  
"I wouldn't."  
  
She didn't acknowledge that, just continued to strain. He could see a couple of muscles beginning to stand out in her neck, moistened his lips involuntarily at the sight.  
  
"On second thoughts keep it up, sweetheart. Might have an aneurysm."  
  
A loud crack and she was standing there with the lever in her hand. If it hadn't   
been so fucking annoying, it would have been priceless. Wait a minute, no...it was priceless. Watched her pull a hand back through her hair, dragging it loose from the ponytail. Not that he needed warmth or anything but he was certainly enjoying the cheery glow from her cheeks. Allowed himself a little chuckle.  
  
"Like to tell me what you think is so funny?"  
  
A lesser man might be intimidated by that, but then he wasn't a man and besides he knew from experience her threats towards him were pretty hollow these days. Knew he'd always be safe while she inhabited the moral high ground of Slayer, protector of the weak and all. Seethed bitterly at the thought, yeah and now he was the one who was weak, no word of a lie. But a comeback? He'd hadn't thought of a comeback yet and precious seconds had been ticking by, might as well just go for the obvious high score,  
  
"You, love. Think maybe Captain Cardboard's starting to rub off on you."  
  
If looks could kill. She dropped the door handle to the floor with a clank, folded her arms.  
  
"And that's a bad thing of course."  
  
He took a last drag, stubbed it out in the bedpan he'd appropriated as a makeshift ashtray.  
  
"Too right. Slayer's not about muscle."  
  
"You don't say? And of course you'd know all about that."  
  
She was listening now despite herself, he could tell. The pugilist stance more a formality than anything else, dropped her eyelids to hit him with a look of studied contempt.  
  
"If anyone would it's me."  
  
She wasn't getting it so it sent it home like one of his trademark railroad spikes.  
  
"I killed a couple of you lot, didn't I? How'd you think I managed that without knowing a thing or two?"  
  
He was right, she knew he was right and he could see she knew that he knew. Saw her curiosity pique a little, God, he could read her like a book. The slow relaxation of the fists, sliding back along the wall to drop wearily into her seat, yeah, like she didn't have anything better to do. Might as well hear what bullshit yarn the vampire was going to spin. She yawned and he got a long look at all those perfect white teeth, the pink little tongue settled between, the glorious red throat behind. Faux boredom, she did it so well and his mouth twitched in appreciation. But here it came anyway, right on schedule,  
  
"OK, lets hear it then. Lets hear what pearls of wisdom the vampire has managed to glean from his entire lifetime of slaughter. Seriously Spike..."  
  
She shifted her seat a few inches towards him, dropping her head onto her hands in wide-eyed mockery, bated breath and all,  
  
"...I really wanna know."  
  
And she did. She really did, he thought. But then, she really didn't. And what's more he wasn't sure he really wanted to tell her anyway. Sorta like letting her get a peek at the insider knowledge, letting her see the horse during tryouts. Who knows when everything he knew might come in useful again, might make the difference between his winning and losing. No, best keep it to himself, chip or no chip they were still Vampire and Slayer, Hunted and Hunter and any advantage, however small, had to be valuable. He let a slow smile play across his lips, held her eyes for a second, letting her know all that.  
  
"Yeah, you're right Slayer. What would I know."  
  
He could tell she was irked at that one but there was no way she was going to show it. Rolled her eyes like she knew he was full of it, turned her attention back to her nails, picking at the cuticles.  
  
The air-conditioning came to life again with a whirr and she shivered. Spike's stomach let out a long low growl and frowning, he pressed a hand to it under his shirt. Looked back at her. She didn't seem to have heard and now he couldn't help but notice the little vein jumping in her neck, thinking about how it would feel pressed against his lips, her hair tickling his chin. She smelt of sunshine, fruit and flowers, wondered if she tasted that way too. Wondered if her skin was salty right now. Thought about tasting her, brushing his mouth against her throat, maybe a little lower, running a cool tongue over that magical little hollow at the base, imagined her low moan of desire as he.....bollocks. Thankfully got the bedpan over himself before she looked up, surprised at the sudden movement. He raised his eyebrows defensively, managed to summon a look somewhere between innocence and irritability.  
  
"Feelin' a bit sick."  
  


- - - - - - - - - -  


  
"Nah, you're doin' it wrong. It's all in the wrist."  
  
"I'm using my wrist."  
  
"No you're not. Keep it flexible. That's it and again. Slow and smooth."  
  
"Like that?"  
  
"Less force, more love."  
  
"Love? You want me to love it?"  
  
"Not love it, I said do it with love. That's it...better."  
  
"I can't get the angle right."  
  
"That's cause you're forcing it. Close your eyes....that's it, love. Be the card."  
  
She grimaced, tried again and this time...right on the money. The Ace of Spades dead centre, dropped right in with a slap. 'Bout time too, almost used up the whole pack and the floor littered with them, some as far away as the door. For a Slayer, her hand eye co-ordination was pretty patchy. He watched her as she experimented again, perfecting her technique, making a little zipping noise from between her teeth and found himself smiling. Never seen her like this before, not a trace of the Chosen One, just...well, Buffy he guessed. So this is what her deadbeat friends got every day? And there was him thinking the stick up her arse was a permanent feature.  
  
She laughed suddenly, scored another bulls-eye and he felt something weird, a little stomach flip that could just be a side-effect of the hunger. Made him antsy, angry inside and sent him jumping to his feet, trying the lock himself, punching the door.  
  
"What's the matter? You going stir crazy?"  
  
He turned back and looked at her, legs spread out on the floor, that gorgeous golden hair tumbling down all over her shoulders and swallowed hard, confused. What the fuck was going on? Temporary insanity had to be. That or the panda syndrome, lock any two animals in the same room for long enough and they were going to start looking at each other funny. Yeah...that was it. He just needed to focus for a minute, breath out the tension, breath in the....fuck.  
  
"I need a drink."  
  


- - - - - - - - - -  


  
"That's not going to work."  
  
"It'll work."  
  
"O.K, but you're gonna be sick."  
  
He sighed, shook up the bottle, watching the two liquids mingle, the last of the contents of his hip flask, plus two bottles of neat cough syrup...like some kind of exotic cocktail. A medicinal Tequila Sunrise without the Tequila. Stopped shaking and watched the mixture settle.  
  
"It's gonna taste disgusting. You're insane."  
  
"No...just really....really bored."  
  
Unscrewed the top and took a slug, well, certainly felt slug-like, slow-moving down his throat. Jesus. Actually....  
  
"Well? What's it like?"  
  
He took another gulp, wiped his mouth, handed it to her,  
  
"Not bad. Bit like kirsch..."  
  
Watched her gingerly sip a mouthful, fall back spluttering, rubbing her tongue with a sleeve,  
  
"...with a bite."  
  
He took the bottle from her and dropped back against the wall, made himself more comfortable with the help of a sack of bandages. Her eyes were watering and, after a moment or two, he passed her a roll of lint to dry them. A rueful smile, something rare and she dabbed at her face with it, cleaning away the running mascara.  
  
"You've got..."  
  
He mimed the smudged make-up and she scrubbed at it again, suddenly self- conscious. Why did that spark something? A little stab in his gut again and a sudden need to touch her, wipe her face with his hands, hold her, kiss her sweet little....Christ in heaven. Get a grip. Tipped the bottle back and chugged on it hard, really couldn't be drunk enough at this precise moment.  
  
"So...what did you think? The first time you saw me?"  
  
He choked, almost inhaled the shit then if that were possible, either way it was in his nose and fuck...stung like a sonofabitch. Grabbed at her hand when she offered the bandage back, anything to staunch the water rolling from his eyes. Couldn't even focus on what she'd meant with that last question, what he'd thought? Why the hell did she care what he'd thought? He blew his nose, ignoring her look of disgust, tried to read her expression through a veil of tears and failed. She was just looking at him, no agenda, just plain honest to goodness curious and he was thrown. What had he thought? That night? The same thing he thought every time he looked at her of course.  
  
"I thought...this one's different."  
  
Wasn't expecting that was she? And he almost regretted it, almost took it back or killed it dead with a sneer. Like she was something special? But found he didn't really want to, wanted her to know suddenly. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe just that little glimpse of the other her, the real her he'd been treated to, but suddenly he wanted her to know everything, just how amazing she really was. How unlike anyone he knew. And she didn't know it, he was pretty sure of that.  
  
"I thought she's the one. The one who's going to do for you. I thought...if anyone can, it's her. I thought watch this one Spike. Watch your back."  
  
He saw he react to that, recognising he was sincere, that he had meant it.  
  
"Really?"  
  
He took another slug, handed her the bottle again,  
  
"Scout's honour."  
  
She took a draft, this time no coughing, let the liquid sink back in her mouth and drizzle down her throat. He watched it making it's way, the pulse in her neck calling to him.  
  
"Wow."  
  
Yeah. She was flattered he could tell. He shifted on his pillow, took out his cigarettes again and this time, didn't know why, raised his eyebrows at her as he opened the pack,  
  
"All right if I...?"  
  
She waved her hand at him, seemed to barely even notice the little gesture and he lit up, trying not to ignite the fumes that were coming off them both now in waves.  
  
"Know what I thought about you?"  
  
That was unexpected, but he found himself suddenly curious too. Remembered the fire in her eyes in the alley that night, back of The Bronze as she stared him down, stake in hand: 'What happens Saturday?' 'I kill you', the picture still pin-sharp, one of his favourite memories.  
  
"Go on..."  
  
She swallowed another mouthful, shuddering at the raw taste, passed it back,  
  
"I thought..."  
she hesitated looking at him, allowed a small grudging smile,  
  
"I thought...pretty cool."  
  
His eyebrows shot up to his hairline, mouth almost dropping open in surprise,  
  
"You thought I was cool?"  
  
She tried to back-pedal a little, almost squirming now,  
  
"No! What you said. That thing about me dying...you said like 'You die' or something." she shrugged, "It worked...sounds really good with an English accent."  
  
"Yeah?"  
A smirk, almost playful,  
  
"Yeah. Like 'bollocks'. I can't say 'bollocks' properly, it sounds lame."  
  
"It's more of a 'ol' sound, you should maybe work on it. Get the Watcher to give you some coaching."  
  
"English Swear-Words 101?"  
  
"Well...they're the best. We invented swearing."  
  
"That's bullshit. Americans are the kings of profaness...prof..."  
  
She was getting drunk and it was almost cute.  
  
"Profanity?"  
  
"What you said."  
  
She took the bottle of her own accord this time, sunk another hit like a pro.  
  
"So you were scared? Of me?"  
  
She screwed up her nose,  
  
"Scared?!!! Nah...."  
  
Saw his hurt look and conceded a little,  
  
"O.K...a bit...maybe. When Angel said all that stuff about you..."  
  
"Angel said? What stuff?"  
  
She grimaced, another slug and this time no sign of her giving it up,  
  
"'Bout you being like this....killing dynamo...or something." a mock-sombre tone, "'He will not stop till everyone is dead'!!"  
  
"Angel said that?"  
  
His turn to say wow. Well. Who would have guessed it. Maybe he'd cut the old git some slack next time he saw him, by way of a thank you. Took another drag on his cigarette, feeling pretty good now,  
  
"'...course that was before we kicked your ass."  
  
"You what?"  
  
She tried to eye him back it wasn't quite working, the Slayer intimidation technique so much less convincing with a quart of hard liquor inside her.  
  
"No one kicked my ass! I left."  
  
"Yeah, then you came back and...we set you on fire."  
  
He spluttered, speechless for a moment,  
  
"You did not! I caught fire."  
  
"Yeah..."  
  
she frowned, momentarily floored,  
  
"...but I...I didn't put you out. And then you were like....all....extra crispy."  
  
His lips twitched, wanting to smile at her, daft bint, all sign of the Chosen One expunged, just a pissed-up college girl now with a smart mouth. Watched her shove her hair back again with barely contained irritation, sucking on the bottle like a skid-row tramp.  
  
"Buffy...hey. Think you've had enough now."  
  
He reached for the booze, trying to wrest her super-strength grip one-handed, but couldn't do it. Snatched his hand back when it looked like she might be about to use her teeth. She burst into laughter at the surprise in his face,  
  
"Yeah...look out! Buffy bites!"  
  
Uncontrollable giggles shook her body and he watched as she slid slowly down the wall, her bottom slipping out from under her at the last moment. A soft 'thunk' and her head hit the linoleum. After a moment or two of motionless silence, he crept over on his hands and knees, lowered his face to her's. Reeled back at the alcohol fumes. Her breath was like evil popsicles. Lifted one of her eyelids to check on her status,  
  
"Spike?"  
  
He jumped back, managed to regain his composure though before she pushed herself up on one elbow. The one open eye bloodshot as hell.  
  
"D'you think I'm pretty?"  
  
He blinked in surprise, considered a lie, something scathing. But she was drunk and liable to forget pretty much anything he said anyway.  
  
"Yeah baby. I think you're real pretty."  
  
He moved forward, balling up the bandages she'd been sitting on into a makeshift pillow. Lifted her head almost tenderly and placed it underneath. She sighed and he stroked back the hair that had found it's way into her mouth, not quite sure what he was doing.  
  
"Cold."  
  
That he could deal with, pulled off his duster and laid it over her, tucking the sleeves under her body, under her thighs, trying to make it cosy. She smiled, made a little purring sound in the back of her throat,  
  
"Mmmm. Smells nice."  
  
"What does?"  
  
"Coat."  
  
"Yeah, what of?"  
  
She snuggled down into the collar, pulling it over her face, mumbled something he could barely hear. Had to pull back the lapels just to make sure.  
  
"Of what?"  
  
"Smells of Spike."  



	3. Contentions

Her head felt like it was made out of Styrofoam.  
  
Bad Styrofoam.  
  
The Styrofoam from hell.  
  
She tried to open one eye, scrunched it tight shut again when the light hurt her brain. Where the hell was she? And why did she feel like she'd been in a car wreck? Momentary panic..maybe she had been! Taken Mom's car out for a spin in another misguided attempt to improve her driving skills. And now? Pretty sure that stuff under her cheek was tarmac and that sticky fluid? Had to be blood. She was probably lying smack in the middle of the highway somewhere, leaking vital body fluid and no one around for miles to help. Cleared her throat weakly, tried to speak. God, what was that taste in her mouth? Was that...cherry brandy? Since when had she ever drunk....  
  
The eyes snapped open. Sharp focus. And there he was. Absolutely the last thing she would ever wish to see at this precise moment. Six-foot-something of blonde-haired provocation, sprawled out just a foot away, the most God-awful self-satisfied grin plastered all over his face. She closed her eyes again, moaning with sudden recognition.  
  
"Wakey wakey, sunshine! Rise and shine."  
  
Jesus, his voice! Was it always that loud? Like someone beating at the base of her skull with a toffee-hammer. She pressed her palms against the sides of her head, trying to stop the whirling sensation. No good. Felt sick. She raised her head a little, dragged herself up onto her elbows.  
  
"What time is it?"  
  
He shrugged, reaching a hand up to casually scratch his eyebrow,  
  
"Dunno. You're the one with the watch."  
  
Oh yeah. Right. Dragged her wrist round and tried to focus on the blinking red LED.  
  
"7am? That can't be right."  
  
He grunted, pulling himself slowly to his feet, stretching vampire limbs, quite unnecessarily she thought. God, but even watching him move made her queasy, or maybe it was just that horrible smell. The bottle of liquor was lying on the floor just inches from her, and the aroma wafting from it was enough to make her want to barf. She reached out weakly with one hand, and slapped it away.  
  
"Oh right...now you don't want it near you? Pity you didn't feel like that last night. Damn near took me bloody hand off."  
  
Didn't know what he was talking about, and didn't want to. Needed food, bread, crackers, anything to soak up the hideous cauldron of neat alcohol that was boiling away inside her.  
  
"Is there anything to eat in here? Anywhere?"  
  
She thought he shook his head, but she was sort of hoping she'd imagined it. No, there had to be something. With a supreme act of will pulled her legs up under herself, managed to achieve a semi-comfortable crouching position. God, her stomach. Her whole body. Felt like someone had ripped out her lower intestines and replaced them with sticklebricks. And she was cold, so cold in here, drew the thin covering around her like a second skin before she'd even realised what it was.  
  
"Is this...your coat?"  
  
"Listen, I've been thinking..."  
  
He ignored her and, she noticed with another stir of nausea, he'd started bouncing lightly, up and down on the balls of his feet. Stop it...please. No fast movements...of any kind.  
  
"...this place has to have some kind of safety mechanism. Something to let people know if there's someone trapped in here."  
  
She swallowed, concentrate Buffy, this could be important.  
  
"So?"  
  
God, her stomach.  
  
"So...we find it! Pull the bloody emergency cord, push the bleedin' button! Whatever it takes to us the fuck OUT OF HERE!!!"  
  
"Spike....don't..."  
  
"Don't WHAT?"  
  
"Could you just...."  
  
Her voice sunk to a whisper, mashing her fists against her eyelids. Silence and then a sigh from him, not entirely without compassion she thought. He, of all people, should know a little about the exquisite pain of a hang-over. Felt saliva rush to her mouth as she cramped up, her stomach twisting itself inside out in an effort to rid herself of the poison.  
  
"Oh God...I think I'm gonna..."  
  
He was on his knees beside her in a second, grabbing for the bed pan, sliding it under her mouth. She caught sight of the contents, a raw mess of cigarette butts, the stench of stale tobacco assailing her senses, before she retched. Convulsions, like her whole system was rebelling, clutching her stomach, choking and gulping for mouthfuls of air between spasms. She was only dimly aware of it, but she felt his hand pressing against the back of her neck, scraping her hair back out of her face and holding it there. Didn't have the strength to slap it away and besides, felt nice and cool. Down to just the dry heaving now, the worst part. She couldn't see the expression on his face but she was sure he must be loving this. Not every day a vamp got to see The Slayer chuck. This was going to be a great story to share over the next hand of poker.  
  
That was the last of it, had to be. Just tearing sore throat now and unbelievable thirst. God! God! What the hell had she been thinking?  
  
His voice was oddly soft, gentle even,  
  
"That the lot?"  
  
She nodded, pressing her lips together, eyes watering. Felt him gently release her hair, brush the last few strands off her burning cheeks. She opened her eyes, wiping them, risked a glance at him, but he wasn't even looking at her. Rummaging in a cardboard box he'd pulled off the shelf. Tearing open a pack of wet-wipes, he placed one hand firmly under her jaw, set to cleaning her face up. The sensation was wonderfully comforting, although she was trying like hell not to let him know that. The cool, watery smell of aloe soothing her senses, sending her back to childhood, in bed with a fever, her Mom bending over her with a damp face-cloth.  
  
"Mmmm."  
  
Had she said that, or just thought it? Peeked at him through a half-closed lid and saw the smirk. Oh brother. Managed to reach up and take hold of his hand. He faltered, handed her the wipe...and since when did vampires blush?  
  
"Thanks....I can...manage now."  
  
She couldn't look at him suddenly. This was too weird. The way he'd been touching her a minute ago, so unvampire, so unSpike, like he cared about her, about the way she was feeling. Had to have an ulterior motive. Or maybe he was just going crazy in here, maybe they both were. He sunk back against the wall, and she heard him fumbling for his lighter. He was nervous. Why was he nervous? He was never nervous. Never.  
  
"Ack...my mouth..."  
  
Someone had to say something to break the silence, the unfamiliar tension that was suddenly there between them.  
  
"...feels like I licked the floor of Willy's clean."  
  
He extended a hand, a small foil package and she eyed it, him, back to his hand.  
  
"What's that? Is that...drugs?!!"  
  
He rolled his eyes, unwrapped the paper,  
  
"Juicy fruit, you daft cow."  
  
"Oh."  
  
Boy, did she feel stupid. Tentatively took the offering, bent it softly into her mouth, a question forming on her lips even before she'd had time to think about it,  
  
"Do vampires like gum?"  
  
He blinked at her like she was congenitally stupid or something, unwrapped a stick for himself, dropped it in, chewed slowly.  
  
"Don't you?"  
  
"Well, yeah...but..."  
  
"But...vampires aren't people right?"  
  
God, was he going to turn this into a political thing, cause she really didn't feel up to a debate. Not as if there was anything to debate anyway. The facts were pretty much indisputable.  
  
"No. Vampires are monsters."  
  
"Monsters can be people."  
  
"People are people. Monsters are...something else."  
  
His jaw twitched warningly. Great, he was pissed. Well, let him be. He knew she was right.  
  
"Demons, Vampires, Monsters...they're not....they don't have souls."  
  
"Oh they don't?"  
  
"No they don't."  
  
She was on solid ground with this one at least.  
  
"So what's Angel then?"  
  
She glared at him. Low shot, but why should she be surprised.  
  
"Angel's different. He's...."  
  
"He's a person?"  
  
Gritted teeth,  
  
"Yes."  
  
He smiled, slow and deliberate, affected a puzzled frown, like she was explaining to a child.  
  
"And what about Harris's demon bird? What's she then?"  
  
"Anya's an ex-demon. She's human now. She has a soul."  
  
"And that makes her....?"  
  
"A person."  
  
"Right."  
  
He was shaking his head now, and she got a feeling she'd missed something, like in Math class when she'd suddenly hear her name; 'Buffy?', and what was the question again? He was grinding another cigarette out, that had to be his last one. Still smirking though and that was bugging her. He shouldn't smirk when she'd won.  
  
"What's funny?"  
  
He looked at her, surprised that she'd even care. Cocked his head to one side,  
  
"You. Everything's black and white with you isn't it?"  
  
She frowned,  
  
"Not everything."  
  
A short dry laugh,  
  
"Not everything? People, good. Monsters, bad. Murder, wrong. Killing, right."  
  
"Killing is not right, I didn't say that."  
  
"No, but you do it."  
  
"I kill demons."  
  
"And demons aren't people."  
  
"No."  
  
"People are people."  
  
"Yes...stop trying to..."  
  
"What about bad people?"  
  
"What about them? That's nothing to do with me?"  
  
She stopped, faltered. What was he trying to say here? That she was making judgements, judging something she didn't understand? Well, he was wrong. She understood, she understood very well. No insecurity here, mister.  
  
"Do you think they should be punished?"  
  
"If they've done something wrong."  
  
"Wrong? Like...kill someone?"  
  
"Yeah..."  
  
she almost snarled that last one,  
  
"...cos where I'm from? That's usually considered wrong."  
  
He sucked in a mouthful of air, let it out again with a hiss,  
  
"So a person can be bad? Evil?"  
  
"Yes. But that's none of my business..."  
  
"None of your business?"  
  
"No. That's to do with human laws."  
  
"And you're the demon law?"  
  
"Yes. I mean...no. I don't make the laws....but..."  
  
"You just dole out the sentence?"  
  
She gritted her teeth. Didn't know where this was going but she didn't like it. The way each answer came back with a question attached, like he was leading her somewhere, somewhere she didn't want to go. Making her think about stuff she hadn't touched on since she was called, making her mistrust universal truths. She fixed him with a stare,  
  
"I'm The Slayer. I hunt demons. I kill them. End of story."  
  
"Bad demons?"  
  
She sighed, rolled over and lay on her back. Christ, Angel was right, he never gave up.  
  
"Yes, Spike. Bad demons. I hunt the bad demons and then I kill them."  
  
She covered her eyes with her hands, massaging her temples. Saw him reach over into his coat pocket, pull out another pack of Marlboros. Jesus! Cleared his throat before lighting up,  
  
"Right. So...what about the good ones?"  
  


- - - - - - - - - -  


  
"And you can do it?"  
  
"Nah. Never had the aptitude. More of a fists and feet man."  
  
"But some vampires can?"  
  
He shrugged, ran a hand back through his hair,  
  
"Yeah. Some. Dru was a dab hand at it."  
  
Extended two fingers towards her, pointing at her eyes, affected an overly dramatic, melancholy voice, a shaky little quaver that was almost uncanny,  
  
"'_Look at me....be in me!_'"  
  
He sniffed, dropped his hand,  
  
"That kinda bollocks."  
  
She shivered. The impression had been a little too good, making her skin crawl at the memory of the pale, dark-haired vampire and her mad eyes. In over a century he'd obviously had time to perfect it.  
  
"You were with her a long time."  
  
He nodded, not looking at her.  
  
"Yeah. Long time."  
  
"You loved her."  
  
It wasn't a question, more a statement of fact but he took it like an insult. Like she was questioning the validity of any emotion that came from a vampire. His lip curled, almost spitting the reply,  
  
"Yeah!! I loved her! That seem weird to you? I mean...me not having a soul and being a bad, evil demon and all?"  
  
She shrugged,  
  
"No, not really."  
  
Looked at him, staring at her now, bright, bright blue eyes. She'd never noticed that before.  
  
"I know vampires can love. Angel loved me. Even after his soul was gone. I think he loved me even then. The demon in him just...twisted it."  
  
His eyes softened, darker blue, a small nod.  
  
"Yeah. It did."  
  
She looked away, shivered again. Wasn't even surprised this time when he moved closer to her, draping the coat around her shoulders again.  
  
"Thanks."  


- - - - - - - - - -  


  
Her eyes cracked open, checked her watch.  
  
12pm. High noon.  
  
They'd been in here half a day. Seemed like much longer. Wondered if anyone had even noticed she was gone. Her Mom was away on a buying spree for the gallery, Giles had gone on one of his Watcher weekends and wouldn't be back until Tuesday. Even then who was to say that he would put two and two together. Her half-baked plan to break into the compound, the complete absence of Buffy. Might take him a day or so before he really started to worry. And it's not like anyone would miss Spike. Xander was probably organising a party right now.  
  
She glanced over at him and saw he was asleep. Finally. She was starting to think that he'd never shut his eyes. Had been waiting for almost four hours now, with a bladder the size of a water melon. Shuffled slowly to her feet, trying to make as little noise as possible. There was another bedpan on the shelf, and that had to be her best option, tip-toed as stealthily as she could round the back of the shelf units, the other side of the room and set it down. Squatted, trying to keep sight of him. Suddenly the room didn't seem so big any more.  
  
The noise was loud, damned stainless steel, but it was over with quickly and she let out a small sigh at the relief.  
  
"'Bout bloody time too"  
  
She almost overbalanced at the sound of his voice, grabbing at the metal shelving in alarm,  
  
"Starting to think you must be half bleedin' camel."  
  


- - - - - - - - - -  


  
"So that beats...this?"  
  
He sighed, took the cards off her again, checked them against his,  
  
"Yeah. I've got three queens...see?"  
  
"And what have I got?"  
  
He grinned, biting down on the tongue depressor he was chewing,  
  
"You've got shit Slayer."  
  
She growled, grimaced, shoving another small pile of aspirin towards him.  
  
"I think you're cheating."  
  
He drew himself up, the picture of outrage,  
  
"Cheat? With you? Like I'd bleedin' have to!"  
  
Shuffled the cards again, preparing to deal,  
  
"So is this what you do?"  
  
Blue eyes questioned her,  
  
"Do when?"  
  
"With eternity I mean."  
  
When he smiled, she almost forgot what he was sometimes. Almost forgot they were supposed to be enemies.  
  
"Yeah. This and a lot of reading."  
  
"Yeah? What sort of stuff? Horror?"  
  
He raised his eyebrows, sighed. Exasperation.  
  
"No."  
  
Dealt the cards out fast like a pro, one of those guys in Las Vegas,  
  
"Fiction mostly. Novels. Autobiographies. Poetry."  
  
"Poetry?!!"  
  
Hadn't meant to make it sound like that, so incredulous. Like a vampire could be interested in poetry. Forgetting when he'd grown up of course. Poetry was probably all the rage back then. Like WWF.  
  
"Really?" she tempered it, gentle curiosity, "What sort of poetry?"  
  
He shrugged, took a peek at his hand, lifted two more cards from the pack.  
  
"All sorts."  
  
She wasn't letting this one go, wondered why she was inquisitive, but it seemed so odd, so strangely jarring with all the...Spikeness. He liked poetry. Why should that surprise her? She'd always known he was a romantic. She frowned. In a really twisted sort of way.  
  
"Give me an example."  
  
He lifted his face from his cards, fixed her with a cool blue stare.  
  
"An example?"  
  
"Yeah. What's your favourite poem?"  
  
He was trying to psyche her out again, she could tell, but this time she was certain she could win, had the upper hand. And sure enough he was faltering, more than a little uncomfortable with the secret he'd unwittingly revealed about himself.  
  
"You want an example."  
  
"You must know some by heart. Quote me something."  
  
He frowned and, she noticed, sucked on his bottom lip for second. It was a funny little gesture, very human and she found herself almost smiling, waiting impatiently for his reply.   
  
God...what was this? Wait a minute...was she...flirting? Was she flirting WITH SPIKE!!! Flushed bright red as she realised. Ick. Too creepy. As if he'd heard her thoughts, he turned those bluer than blue eyes to her again, began to speak, soft, melodious and the pit of her stomach turned to melting butter. God...since when did he know French?  
  
"De passer par les barres,   
son regard fixe est devenu ainsi épuisé qu'il ne tient désormais rien.   
À lui il est comme si il y a mille barres,   
et au delà des mille barres, aucun monde."  
  
He paused and she managed to find her tongue at last, cleared her throat,  
  
"So...what is it in English?"  
  
Half-smiled, turned his face away as he tried to recollect,  
  
"From passing through the bars,   
his gaze has become so exhausted that it holds nothing anymore.   
To him it is as if there are a thousand bars,   
and beyond the thousand bars, no world.  
  
The easy swinging of that lithe, potent stride,  
which turns in on itself in ever-smaller circles,  
is like a dance of power around a center  
in which a great will stands numb.  
  
Only at times the curtain of the pupils rises silently - an image enters,  
goes though the tightened stillness of the limbs,  
enters the heart...  
and is no more."  
  
She felt her heart start to race. The way he was speaking, directing the words specifically at her, as if he was describing her, made her mouth go dry. How could he know that? How could he know she felt that way? She had never told anyone, not even Giles. The nights she'd spent alone in her room, full of self-pity, the burden she carried seeming to crush her under it's monstrous weight.  
  
She was the One, the ever-vigilant Slayer, her sole purpose, her whole life mapped out for her in books, in prophecies written centuries before she had even been born. Her choices not her own, nothing she did would change her destiny. Powerful and powerless at the same time. But how did he know that? Hot tears started to her eyes without warning and she shook her head, hoping he hadn't noticed. Forgetting though. Vampire remember? He noticed everything. Reached into the box beside him and handed her a tissue. She took it, met his eyes, daring him to laugh at her.  
  
"It's such...a sad poem."  
  
"Yeah." he said softly,   
  
carefully folded the returned hanky and put it away.  



	4. Contrition

"You've let the school down, you've let me down but most of all...you've let yourself down..."  
  
He stared at her, blinked twice. Her eyes were hugely luminous, waiting for his response. Looking into them his train of thought wandered for a second, wondering how it'd be to have her look at him like that all the time. Like he was a man instead of something that had crawled out from under a rock. Realised he was staring.  
  
"No. Sorry. Don't get it."  
  
She sighed, moved her hands towards his throat as if she'd throttle him. Such delicate little hands as well, you'd think they'd have to pick someone with big hands. Great big hands for the slaying. Make it a prerequisite.  
  
"Everything's inflatable...remember? The boy and the teacher and the... "  
  
She groaned, turned away in disgust. Not quite sure what response she was going for anyway. But then she was hardly Dennis bloody Leary.  
  
"Right. Sorry. I was forgetting. Vampires don't do humour."  
  
He grunted felt around in his pockets. Knew he'd smoked the last one an hour ago, but it was something to do wasn't it? Besides, force of habit.  
  
"Bollocks. We just find different things funny."  
  
"What like? Terrorism?"  
  
"Not unless it's in a good cause."  
  
She raised an eyebrow at him, very nearly an eye-roll then but he'd noticed that she'd eased up on them a few hours ago. Round about the same time she'd made him recite Rilke to her. The Panther. Fantastic bloody poem. Always reminded him of her. The soul of a jungle cat contained in a tiny little body, imprisoned by destiny. Sort of poetic. He let his eyes slide surreptitiously along the length of her slender frame, wondered what muscles she could control that other girls couldn't.  
  
"And just what are you looking at?"  
  
Shit. Too late to change the expression on his face, have to roll with it. Turned the look of casual lust into a hundred-proof leer, locked eyes with her.  
  
"Just thinking. You ever crack nuts between those thighs?"  
  
To his surprise she didn't blush. Just threw the curtain of golden hair over her shoulder and folded her arms. Was that a smile? Maybe just a ghost of one. She looked away,  
  
"You wish."  
  
A low growl forced itself from his chest, and he tried to cover it, massaging his empty stomach as if it was causing him pain. She glanced over. No fooling her. Pretty sure that the Slayer knew the difference between a hungry vamp and a horny one. She wasn't rising to it though, which was just...well odd. Since when did the Chosen One pass up an opportunity for humiliating him? He felt her eyes on him again, as he picked up a bottle and started fiddling with a child-proof cap, acting as if it were suddenly the most fascinating bleeding puzzle since the Rubik's Cube.  
  
"So, do you work out a lot?"  
  
She'd tried to make it sound casual, the sort of enquiry any soldier serious about his or her work would make to another, but somewhere the end got twisted. Her voice going up into a little question mark that shouldn't have been there. He studied her and then saw it, the slightest flush of red around the base of her throat. Just a tiny thing, maybe she was allergic to Joyce's choice in washing powder, but somehow he thought not. Her eyes said no. That and the half twist of her body towards him, the ultra-casual way she'd left one of her hands resting on her upper thigh, like a little signpost. Flashing to him, calling him. This way Spike. This way. He swallowed, feeling that odd feeling in the pit of his stomach grow, sending little flashes of warmth to his groin. Jesus, not again. Scrambled to his feet before it could go any further.  
  
"Yeah. Fair bit. What's that?"  
  
He stalked purposefully over to the door, pointing to a small grate he hadn't noticed before. Heard her get up, stretching herself out with a little groan, walked over to stand beside him.  
  
"Is it a fuse box or something?"  
  
She reached up, wrenched off the steel covering like it was a Pringles top. Inside a mess of cables and electrodes, solder. Two pairs of eyes traced a red wire out of the box across in the direction of the door lock. Looked back at each other. You think...?  
  
"Best let me do it."  
  
Raised his eyes to the ceiling when she stuck him with her patented hard stare. Really couldn't be arsed to get into a sexism debate right now.  
  
"Or you could. 'Cept I never really bothered learning that whole CPR thing."  
  
She grumbled, but stepped away. Didn't know why he'd said that though. Seeing the Slayer lit up like a Christmas tree probably wouldn't have set the chip off or anything. Told himself that and, anyway, he preferred his meat rare. He stared at the wires trying not to let the utter confusion in his brain migrate to his face.  
  
"O.K...here goes."  
  
Crossed the live with the...what was the blue one again? That ought to do it anyway. A loud crackle and bang, and the whole thing fried. Metal melting and fusing in an instant. A shower of sparks poured out over him, spitting, before a kick like an angry cow sent him flying back hard against the metal shelves. The lights dimmed. A smell of acrid burning. He raised his head to look at the door lock.   
  
Still red. Fuck.   
  
And she was just standing there, hands on hips, her head cocked to one side. He frowned,  
  
"It worked in Lethal Weapon."  
  
"Will you please shut up."  
  
"Oh right...sorry...I was forgetting..."  
  
He dragged himself to his feet, suddenly feeling incredibly tired,  
  
"...vampires can't do funny."  
  
She frowned at him, shook her head,  
  
"No. I mean shut up and listen."  
  
He turned his head to one side, watching her. Eyes all big and all, like some kind of beautiful deer or something, ears straining, her whole body tensed for flight. Listening, listening...listening for what? Shrugged,  
  
"No. Don't hear anything."  
  
She turned those eyes to him, and he stepped back quickly, felt himself quail a little at the fury contained there.  
  
"Exactly!"  
  
Took two steps towards him, those tiny little hands balling up into tiny hard little fists.  
  
"You shorted the air-conditioning out, you....jerk."  
  


- - - - - - - - - -  


  
"God."  
  
She said the name like she thought he migh actually hear her. He debated a reply, and then decided against it. Compassion wasn't usually his thing, but she really looked like she could do without it right now. His internal demon thermometer wasn't always completely accurate but he was guessing the room temperate had just reached the critical thirty-three degrees. Boiling point for human emotions. A handy piece of information as far as vampires were concerned. Not being troubled by the heat, they could move through the city at times like this, keeping a watchful ear out for the telltale cries. A domestic row that had escalated, a simple mugging that had been blown wide open by the climbing mercury. Yeah, a vamp could really see some wonderful sights on a night like that. Smiled at the happy memories. Ah...New York in June.  
  
He slid an eye over to her again, and let his gaze linger for second. She'd stripped down to her lycra top and removed her shoes but the trousers were still in place, albeit with the flies undone. Grinned, as he realised she'd rather broil to death in her own juices than let him see her in her panties. Her head slid to one side, trying to make contact with the cooler flooring, saw him.  
  
"You're loving this aren't you?"  
  
He quirked his eyebrows at her, stretched out his arms and laced his fingers behind his head.  
  
"Dunno. Ask me again when it reaches forty."  
  
Her mouth dropped open, eyes pleading and he felt a stab of contrition. Shit.  
  
"Look...why don't you just take the rest of that stuff off."  
  
She groaned, closed her eyes agonisingly,  
  
"I promise I won't peek."  
  
A ray of hope when she looked at him again. **Please** don't be joking this time. Could see her start to laugh weakly, when he pouted his bottom lip, made a cross over his un-beating heart.  
  
"O.K. But you better turn your back. And stay turned."  
  
He complied, but then he was a gentleman. Hoped she hadn't noticed his touch of real reluctance, or the gleaming steel bedpan leant against the wall in front of him. Heard the top come off with a grunt, then the trousers shimmying off over those silky, lean-muscled....oh for God's sake stop it. A sigh of complete relief as she spread herself out on the floor. One glance in his makeshift mirror told him the panties were still in place though, and he bit his lip in disappointment. Bollocks, she could at least go the whole hog.  
  
"Better?"  
  
"Mmmm."  
  
She was almost purring, a soft tearing sound as she shifted sticky skin against the floor, rolled onto her front. He could see her face, but she couldn't see him, and her eyes were open staring at his back with a lazy look of curiosity.  
  
"Don't vampires ever get hot?"  
  
He swallowed, silently appraising the way the smooth line of her lower back slid into her deliciously curved buttocks. That sweet tasting crease just below, his favourite place on a woman, just before arse turned into thigh. Licked his lips and turned his head to one side, so she could see his face,  
  
"We get hot. Thermometer just doesn't usually do it is all."  
  
She snorted, rolled on her other side and he allowed himself a real look at her, first hand. Golden-tan skin, as soft and firm as a peach, the slender length of her small enough to fit in his hand, under his hands, in his mouth, under his tongue. Bit down on his lip as he thought of it. Tasting the Slayer, taking the Slayer, kissing and licking and sucking and nibbling....  
  
Bloody hell.  
  
Eyelids flickered shut in an internal film show of bliss, throat constricting. Should think of something else, but he couldn't. Could only see her now, sneaked another look again to let himself believe she was real. Jesus, she had a fucking gorgeous little arse.  
  
"Spike?"  
  
Her voice brought him slapping back to earth, almost giving himself whiplash in his haste to turn away, to look back at the wall with her image, her shape burned on his retina.  
  
"What's a vampire's body temperature?"  
  
He closed his eyes, sighed. More bleeding Slayer questions. _'Spike, how long can you go without blood?' 'Spike, what does it feel like when you're being drained?' 'Spike...do vampires have to use deodorant?'_ Made him feel like a bloody guinea-pig sometimes, or one of those Speak 'n' Spell things. Should host his only panel show, 'Ask The Vamp' or twenty bleeding questions. He shook his head,  
  
"I dunno. Cold. Less that humans."  
  
"Much less?"  
  
Where was she going with this?  
  
"Yeah love, much less. Gets lower the hotter the temperature, sort of like a vamp regulator."  
  
"Then can I ask you a favour?"  
He let his brain stew on that one for a second before he answered. Careful now.  
  
"Uh...yeah? Sure."  
  
Risked a sneaky look over his shoulder at her. She was turned away from him still, small shoulders slack with exhaustion, hair clinging to her soaking back like water weed.  
  
"Will you please come lie over here?"  
  


- - - - - - - - - -  


  
He squirmed his back a little, couldn't help it. Her shoulder blades were like knives, digging into him. Shifted again, trying to get comfy.  
  
"Stop wiggling."  
  
"I'm not."  
  
"It's making me feel sick."  
  
"No pet. You're sick, that's what's making you sick."  
  
Reached a hand back behind his head, to lay it on her forehead again. Christ, like a furnace. She moaned softly, pressing one of her hands down on his.  
  
"Mmmm, s'nice and cold."  
  
Yeah, and bloody uncomfortable too. The muscles straining in his arm as she dragged it back there.  
  
"Ow!! That bloody hurts."  
  
"Don't be such a baby."  
  
He growled low and threatening, the only thing he had left now, and he felt her go rigid against him for a second, her thighs hard again the backs of his. Mmm. Interesting. Not so surprising though, Angel probably growled at her all the time, while they were...well the one time anyway. Bad associations. He let his arm relax back against her shoulder. Or good ones maybe. Let another soft growl go, a little experiment. She stiffened again, this time a little tremor. Mmmm...as the lady said.  
  
"Why do you do that?"  
  
He smiled secretly,  
  
"Do what?"  
  
"The growling."  
  
Considered a lie but hey, what the hell. She was half-naked pressed against his back, and it's not as if they hadn't shared a fair bit these last few hours. Let his shoulders relax back into her.  
  
"You know why."  
  
He heard her swallow, a little loud, tentative. Knew he'd crossed a line now, no going back.  
  
"When you get...turned on?"  
  
He gave a small laugh. The trepidation in her voice was so delightful.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Her breathing was shallower now, and he could hear her heartbeat quicken, fast anyway from the effects of the raw alcohol, heat and dehydration. He could hear the blood rushing through her veins, like the sound of the sea, speaking to him, only him. Beautiful. She was so beautiful. The feel of her against him, all steel and softness, flexed like a bow. Wanted to touch her, had to touch her. Had to taste her.  
  
"Spike?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
She sighed, and then twisted. Impossibly, twisted round till she she was facing his back, he could feel her breasts pressing into him, the nipples just this side of hard and she had to be aware of that, had to know the instant effect that would have on him. His cock jumping to sudden hard life in his pants. She moved forward, her belly cupping his lower back, the muscles straining against him, touched her mouth to his ear like she would taste it, soft breath sending galvanic shivers down his spine. He closed his eyes, groaned.  
  
"Spike?"  
  
"Yeah...baby?"  
  
She sighed, twisting and rolling away in one fluid movement.  
  
"You're disgusting."  
  


- - - - - - - - - -  


  
"You know what you are don't you?"  
  
She smiled at him, pure evil, fluttered her eyelashes a tad theatrically.  
  
"Yes. I do."  
  
"You're a prick-tease."  
  
She laughed out loud, shocking him.  
  
"A prick-tease? Why? 'Cos I'm totally immune to your so-called charms?"  
  
He stuck two fingers in the waistband of his jeans, eyed her with venom,  
  
"No. Because you're not."  
  
She opened her mouth, started to laugh. And then shut it again. Yeah. She knew it. Knew he was right. He wasn't stupid, and certainly wasn't delusional. Couldn't believe that it had happened, but it had. She had wanted him. For a moment back there she had wanted him as much as he had wanted her. Felt it with every fibre of his being, every ounce of his vampire sense. For just a second there she had wanted to fuck him every bit as much as she wanted to kill him. And he knew all about that.  
  
"You're deranged."  
  
He half-closed his eyes, wished for a cigarette, but knew no, in actual fact this craving suddenly had nothing to do with nicotine. It had to do with her. The bottle-blonde-headed, little chit that he'd danced around for the last two and a half years, seethed over, raged over, but could never bring himself to kill. That first night in the Bronze, when he'd slid in, all swagger and stance, ready to make his mark, another notch in William The Bloody's battle axe, he'd seen her and the world had gone away. What should have been just another kill, a great one, a glorious one but a kill none the less, had turned into something else in that instant. It had turned into an affair.  
  
Stolen glances, covert meetings, carefully chosen words in clandestine exchanges. And all the time the heat simmering, bubbling, occasionally boiling over into the satisfying contact of their fists and feet. Flashing eyes and blades and all the time they'd been dancing round each other, holding the fire in check with curses and glib one liners;  
  
'What happens on Saturday?'  
  
'I kill you'.  
  
What a fucking joke. As if he could. As if he would. He might as well rip out his own unbeating heart and offer it to the Gods, whoever the fuck they were. He could no more kill her than he could himself.  
  
Took a step towards her and felt her answer, her heart start to race again, like the deer, like the hunted, like his would if he were alive again. Because that's how she made him feel, with her liquid-fire eyes and her rarely-granted smiles, even her curses and jokes at his expense. By the way she spoke to him, like he had thoughts that counted, a mind, a brain that she valued. Like he was a person. Took hold of her elbows, the arms she'd folded across her breasts protectively,  
  
"Spike..."  
  
She spoke softly, almost a plea and he stopped, watching her breathe, her chest rising and falling. She shook her head, was she crying? The Slayer doesn't cry.  
  
"Buffy...I..."  
  
"Just...don't..."  
  
He sighed, dropped his hands to his sides in exasperation.  
  
"I'm sorry...I mean..I didn't mean to...."  
  
Her eyes rolled up to meet him and he was gone, hooked, drowning in her like she was the deep green ocean. God, she was so beautiful. How could anyone wish to destroy that? Couldn't stop himself. Had to touch her, had to taste her. Captured her mouth with his and held it, savouring something he'd never come close to before. Never touched once, despite all their touching, all their fighting and their dancing. Felt her respond like a wave, emotions swelling behind her eyes, building higher and higher. Too much, she couldn't, she wouldn't, this had to be wrong. Had to be. Broke from him gasping,  
  
"God...what are we doing?!"  
  
He stumbled, still there on the wave, still cresting, riding it in. Reached for her again, this time the heel of his hand finding the side of her breast, the thumb skating over her nipple. Found her mouth again, drank from her. Need like an addiction coursed through him, wanted her, wanted to feel her now, wanted her to feel him. She was losing her grip, slipping and sliding into his eyes, her hands urgent now at the small of his back, pulling his t-shirt free. Hands on his shoulder blades, fingernails tearing at him, breaking the kiss to wrench his shirt free. He felt her bend and mould against his chest, savouring the coolness of him, her breasts making two twin centres of heat, her flesh sticking to him. She wanted more every bit as much as he did, wanted more of him against her, everything. Little fingers found his belt buckle and every muscle in his body tensed. She broke the kiss again, eyes gone hazy with lust and need,  
  
"Spike...I'm gonna..."  
  
He breathed ragged sighs, twisting and turning against the pressure of her hand through his jeans. Slid his under the thin material of her panties, watched her gasp as he found the spot, began to stroke with praticed rhythmic ease,  
  
"Spike...I think I'm gonna..."  
  
He gasped as her hand moved against him, slid between zipper and skin, bit his lip. Slayer hands, Slayer strength...did that mean...God, Slayer stamina?  
  
"You go ahead baby...you just go ahead."  
  
Her eyes glazed, limbs suddenly gone slack. A long breath escaping from her lips as she tumbled, knees buckling, slid to the floor with a groan. Stood there with his pants open, cock staring stiffly out, two fingers still extended, glistening.  
  
Right.  
  
I think I'm going to  
  
....faint.  



	5. Convictions

Like rising up through water, as if she was at the bottom of a well, a well filled with sound. Sliding up through the current, rocked by it, shaken by it, God...jarred by it...it was like a whirlpool, sucking her down, round and round and the noise getting louder. Someone calling her name. Thought, 'Jeez...all right...just let me get free of this....seaweed...will ya?' Her hands slapping as it twisted itself around her arms and legs, breathless now. She surfaced gasping.  
  
"Buffy? Christ..."  
  
The voice was sharp, petulant, a complete loss of patience,  
  
"...about bloody time. Thought I was going have to start slapping you about."  
  
Opened her eyes. God! Was that...Spike? Had she been knocked out? Started to struggle weakly against him,  
  
"Get...the...hell off me!!!"  
  
He dropped her arms with a sigh of disgust, moved away to sit to one side. She rolled, her head still swimming, brought her knees up up her chest. God and baby Jesus. Tremors shook her body, felt so bad, like she dying, like she was poisoned. Ackk. That taste in her mouth. She heard him move, slide over the floor towards her. His head appeared over her shoulder, an unreadable expression.  
  
"So...you O.K?"  
  
She closed her eyes, clamping her jaw shut to quell the rising nausea, God he smelt of drink and cigarettes.  
  
"Do I look O.K?"  
  
He sniffed, withdrew, dropped back against the cupboard next to her.  
  
"No. You look like shit."  
  
She groaned, a little spasm. And why was she suddenly so cold again, a minute ago she'd frying in her own skin now she felt like she was...naked? Was she naked? Panic welled up, horror, how was she naked?!!  
  
"Where the hell are my clothes!"  
  
A small sound from behind her made her suddenly and painfully aware of his closeness. Bastard. He had done this, I mean how fucking low could you get? Wait until the Slayer was unconscious, prone and then strip her, humiliate her, have your....Jesus!! What had he done? Felt down with one hand between her legs....had he...what had he been doing to her? A low growl brought goose bumps to her arms.  
  
"Yeah...like I'd have to."  
  
She rolled back onto her front to face him, eyes blazing.  
  
"You better hope you didn't..."  
A lascivious grin spread over his face and he cocked his head at her,  
  
"Wanna be wide awake when that happens don't you?"  
  
What was he going on about? As if she ever would. He was cracked. Managed to summon a look of disgusted condescension.  
  
"I'd wanna to be dead before that happens."  
  
His smile faded, replaced by a cold anger. Turned his head to the side like he'd spit, but thought better of it, picked up another tongue depressor instead and chewed on it. She held his eyes for a moment, before she had to look away. Why'd he look so damned cocky? Like he could have her if he wanted, do anything to her. She snorted, in his dreams. Felt around one-handed for her bra. His fingertips brushed against her's as he slid it to her. She shot him a glare,  
  
"So...tell me again? Why is it that I'm naked?"  
  
He frowned, almost a smile, but he was still pissed about something. Maybe that she'd woken up at all. Pretty sure he could do...stuff...to her if she were asleep. If she wasn't fighting back it wouldn't trigger the chip. Isn't that how it worked?  
  
"You're saying you don't remember?"  
  
She grimaced, turning away to fasten it around the front. Remember what?  
  
"You don't remember why you fainted?"  
  
He was being so cryptic, like he was going to tell her something she didn't know. She tossed a look back at him over her shoulder. Don't try and bullshit me.  
  
"Yeah I remember. I was sick. Where's my top?"  
  
He slung it to her, a little harder that time, it slapped her in the face.  
  
"Thanks."  
  
Pulled it on slowly over salty limbs, sweat dried cold and dusty all over her body.  
  
"Why's it so cold again?"  
  
He was looking away from her, towards the door. A muscle had started to twitch in his jaw. What was he so mad about? Maybe just his patience finally run out, feeling trapped in here at last, like they'd never get out.  
  
"It's late. The heat's evaporating. In the desert remember?"  
  
She shook her head, all fuzzy. Oh yeah. Checked her watch. Jeez, 10.30pm. They'd been in here for almost a whole day. Let out a sigh, long and weary.  
  
"Spike...this is ridiculous."  
  
He looked over at her, blue eyes glowing with a sudden intensity.  
  
"Yeah. It is."  
  
"It's late. No one's around. Why don't we just go for it?"  
  
His gaze darkened in colour, going from azure to deep sapphire in a moment. Every muscle in his body tensed, and she couldn't help noticing just how impressive they really were. Particularly his arms, just the right amount of definition and power there, like he could crush you to death if he wanted to or maybe just crush you to his...chest...hey...wait a minute. What was he doing? On all fours, moving slowly towards her across the floor. She watched him curiously, a mixture of amusement and alarm. Did he think that was sexy or something...was he trying to...oh God!! Did he think she'd meant....? She threw out a hand, catching the ball of his shoulder in her palm, holding him stiffly at arms length.  
  
"Spike, I meant the door. Why don't we just go for it."  
  
The look on his face would probably have made her laugh, if it hadn't been so excruciating. Didn't really think she needed to humiliate him any more than he'd just done himself. His eyes widened, incredulous, before the inevitable retraction. Yeah...that's what he'd been....thinking...er...too. They climbed to their feet, moved side by side to the exit. Bending down she took another look at the hinges, no leverage there, nothing to get their hands under, nothing to grip.  
  
"What we need is a..."  
  
His fist went out like a jack hammer, slamming into the cinder block wall beside the door frame. Jesus...that had to hurt. Again. This time he'd actually made a dent, tearing at the crumbling cement with his fingernails. God, didn't he even have any pain receptors? Blood starting to trickle from his knuckles now, as he struck again hard and fast, the other fist, then the left again, his face contorting with some indescribable emotion. Hate, fury, despair, misery. Thinking of the chip maybe, or Drusilla, thinking of The Initiative and what they'd done to him. Maybe even thinking of her. Smashing repeatedly into the wall, his breath suddenly coming in heedless, ragged pants. Her hand went out involuntarily to his arm, felt him jump at her touch,  
  
"Spike. That's....thanks."  
  
His eyes moved to her, full of pain, physical and spiritual and her heart hurt for him then. Like a wild animal who remembers what it was like to have freedom, and who knows he'll never have it again. Pain for all the nights ahead that he'd spend chained, unable to hunt, unable to live. Separate and outcast. Forced into the lonely role of outsider. Couldn't believe that they had that one thing in common, even though he'd probably never realise it. He could never see that she was alone too.  
  
"That'll do it I think."  
  
He stepped back, let her dig her fingers in to the hollow he'd made, find the edge of the door. She strained, feeling her fingernails split and break off. Great, another fifty dollars well spent. Didn't feel too super-strong either, this was going to be impossible. As if he'd heard her he moved forward, massaging his hands, gave her a long questioning look.  
  
"You're not going to be able to do it on your own."  
  
Slid his fingers in next to hers, their arms parallel. Spike shifted his body so it lay against her's, so they were both taking the strain. She felt suddenly dizzy again, let herself rest back against him, his lean, powerful frame taking her weight so easily. God, she was so tired. Concerned, he dropped a hand to her arm, soft-voiced,  
  
"You O.K? You want to take a rest first?"  
  
No. Dangerous waters. Too easy to let herself rest, too easy to let someone else take over.  
  
"No. I'm good. After three, all right?"  
  
He nodded, replacing his hands beside her's. She breathed easy, two deep breaths and her shoulders were already tensing, ready for maximum effort. Felt him too, the hard muscles in his abdomen bunching against her back, his thighs braced against her own. Why was this such a turn on?  
  
"One..two....THREE!!"  
  
They heaved with all their might. Her hands almost slipping with sweat before she got her grip again. A rending noise like a ship going down, felt the first hinge pop. He gasped, had to let go for a second to stretch his limbs, rolling his head from side to side to get out the kinks. Painfully, she pulled one arm over her chest, dragging the muscle out to it's fullest extent. Then the other. Watching him as he bent forward, lacing his bloody fingers, massaging the joints. Looked at her, dark blue and hazel-green in perfect symbiosis.  
  
"Ready? One more's gonna do it I think."  
  
He reached over, found his grip next to hers, then suddenly dropped his hands. She waited and he just stood there, looking strange. Sad and a little irritated.  
  
"What is it?"  
  
He inclined his head, looking at the door, then back at her. His expression made her uneasy, although she couldn't say why exactly.  
  
"And then what?"  
  
She stared at him,  
  
"And then what...what?"  
  
He sighed, laid a bloody hand to his temple like his head ached. But it didn't, she was pretty sure it didn't.  
  
"We get the door open and then what?"  
  
"What do you mean? We...go home of course."  
  
"Home?"  
  
"Yes! Well...I go home...you go...wherever you want to go...back to Xander's."  
  
He snorted derisively, and she got it, understood what he was saying.  
  
"You don't want to go back?"  
  
He rolled his head back, stared at the ceiling. Right. Of course he didn't want to go back there. I mean who would. Xander himself hated that squalid little hole, escaped it to Anya's apartment whenever he could. At least he was able to. Where was Spike going to go? She remembered how many evenings she'd dropped in to see Giles, only to find them both there. Long after Spike had given up the role of house-guest. The two of them slouched on the sofa, listening to some nasty British noise from the sixties or seventies, feet tapping along, twin tumblers of scotch with the ice-cubes tinkling. Giles had made excuses, Spike was an excellent source of information, he spoke seventeen demon languages, but she knew the truth. They both liked the company. And the fact that they both hailed from the 'Mother Country' certainly didn't hurt. If it hadn't been for the indisputable fact that they were mortal enemies, she was sure they would have been friends.  
  
He was such a strange vampire, she thought. No one had ever come as close to changing her convictions about his breed as Spike had. There was Angel, but of course he just supported the other side of the argument. Take his soul away and he becomes everything unspeakable, everything black and evil and wrong, everything she fought against, would always fight. But where was Spike in this? No soul, and yet he loved. No heart, and yet he cared. A demon's mind and emotions, but he had been nice to her Mother, had helped her avert two apocalypses, albeit for his own supposedly selfish reasons. What had he said? Greyhound Racing and Manchester United.   
  
He liked Weetabix and chocolate-chip cookies and tea and bourbon. He liked to read poetry for God's sake. He watched soaps, he drank beer, played pool like a pro and one time, when she'd dropped round to water an absent Giles' plants, she even caught him moshing to 'The Clash'. What was he? Was he some kind of half- breed or something? Like Blade? But without the sun tolerance factor. Maybe she just didn't get to know that many vampires as well as she'd gotten to know him. Maybe they were all like that, secretly. Maybe the blood lust was just a front. Were they were all inside on Friday nights, listening to old Tom Jones albums and baking brownies? She shook her head, smiling. No, somehow she doubted it.  
  
"What are you smirkin' at?"  
  
She turned her eyes to him, and saw his surprise at her expression.  
  
"You. You are so...odd."  
  
A slow almost entirely non-evil grin spread over his face, he shoved his hands deep into his pockets.  
  
"Yeah? I prefer unique."  
  
She raised her eyebrows,  
  
"Yeah, you're that all right."  
  
Turned back to look at the door, frowning. Then back to him.  
  
"O.K. How's this. You help me get us get out of here and I promise I'll have a talk to Xander....and Giles."  
  
He squinted at her sceptically,  
  
"And say what?"  
  
She sighed gustily, rolled her eyes,  
  
"And say that maybe they could cut you some slack."  
  
He tried to play down the surprise, folded his arms instead, ready to dictate some terms.  
  
"And he stops tying me up at night."  
  
Her mouth twitched, such an amusing mental picture. Xander flat on his back, snoring his head off, while a trussed-up Spike tried to lacerate his flesh with just the power of his mind.  
  
"O.K. No tying up."  
  
"And I want to start looking for my own place."  
  
She spluttered, started to cough,  
  
"Spike..you said it yourself...you're not safe out there."  
  
He glared,  
  
"I'll take my chances. Getting beat up occasionally's gotta be easier than watching that wanker trying to jack off under the covers whenever he thinks I'm asleep."  
  
An unexpected laugh burst out and she stifled it, biting down on one hand. His eyes sparkled at her, dancing blue and silver suddenly,  
  
"You see. Funny, I can do."  
  
And sometimes he could almost do human.   
  
She frowned, stepped back to the door again, waiting for him to follow. A second or two and he joined her, slid his hands in beside hers again. She could still feel his tension under the skin, only slightly softened by her laughter, risked a glance sideways at his face, saw he was only inches away, waiting for her call.  
  
"You know...for a vampire...you're quite a comedian."  
  
He grimaced, refusing to meet her eyes,  
  
"Slayer. Just shut up and pull."  
  


- - - - - - - - - -  


  
"God. I really smell."  
  
She saw him glance at her in the darkness, a glint of white teeth,  
  
"Yeah, you really do."  
  
Asshole. Just because he didn't have any sweat glands. Leant her head out of the DeSoto's open window and let the wind take her hair back, whipping it around her face like party streamers. Felt like shouting, so she did. Howled a long cowboy whoop into the air, listening to it disappear behind them, spiralling out into the desert night.  
  
"That feel good?"  
  
"You betcha."  
  
She grinned, sucking hard on a bottle of water he'd had in the trunk. Felt her whole body soaking it up, like a baked river bed taking in the rain. Drained the whole thing and was still thirsty.  
  
"You got anything else to drink?"  
  
"Only bourbon. But I'm guessing you've had enough hard liquor for one weekend."  
  
She frowned, still feeling the effects of that one.  
  
"Yeah. That stuff was lethal."  
  
He snorted,  
  
"Yeah. And I'm starting to suspect now...hallucinogenic."  
  
She smiled, dipping her hand into the slipstream. Mmmm....nice.  
  
"Yeah? You have visions?"  
  
"Nope."  
  
"No?"  
  
He cleared his throat, the edge of a laugh,  
"Nope, but I'm thinking you will."  
  
Stared over at him in the dark. What was he talking about? Visions? Why would she have visions? Had he done some weird mojo on her, laced that cherry crap with LSD or something?  
  
"What are you talking about?"  
  
He wasn't looking at her, keeping his eyes focused on the road. He reached down, fumbled in the car door, found a half empty pack of Marlboros, lit one.  
  
"You're saying you really don't remember?"  
  
She growled, what was this shit?  
  
"Remember? Remember what? What did I...did I say something...?"  
  
Oh God...she hadn't...  
  
"Did I...pee myself?"  
  
He laughed out loud, a barking, glorious sound,  
  
"No sweetheart. You didn't pee yourself."  
  
She punched him hard, upper arm,  
  
"Then what? What did I do."  
  
She saw his eyes skate over to her, still keeping one eye on the road, saw the gleam in them even in the faint light of the dash as he smiled, evil smile. Her mouth went dry, mind racing, what did she do...what did she....and he turned away, took another drag on his cigarette and blew blue smoke out the window.  
  
"Nothing. Nothing love. Sorry. Just taking the piss is all."  
  
She let out the breath.   
  
Thank God.   
  
Jerk.   
  
Crossed her arms as she stared out into the night. The highway lights leading them in, pulling them back to the Hellmouth, back to their home. Back to college and Slayer responsibilities, back to her Mom, her wonderfully, comfortable bed and Riley, hopefully soon...Riley. Good old dependable, down-to-earth Riley Finn. Safe and secure in his arms, pressed to his chest, pressed to his cool ivory muscles, his lips crushing down on hers, sending her spiralling towards the edge with every sure touch of his fingers on her...wait a minute....since when had he ever...  
  
Eyes widened, throat contracted.  
  
  
Oh.  
  
  
Shit.  
  


**THE END  
**


End file.
